Spark
by timenspace
Summary: in the Pit of the Undead, one has been awakened...Guess Who is BACK! A bit AU, set after the Seventh Book. The dark lord chooses to call up his once most faithful.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is currently a oneshot, however, it will soon be added to and edited. A re-upload will inform you of the details. This is my first Harry Potter fic. Please R&R. It isn't much, its just a random idea that was born from a friends fictlet. _

**Story**: Spark  
**Characters**: Guess Who  
**Setting/Summery**: _after _GoF, The Dark lord Voldemort chooses to have one of the most faithful rewarded. The plan could end up being _foolproof.  
_**Corroborated with**: Felain2985

The dead gray eyes stare out from among the thousands of rotting corpses in Aszkaban Prison.

A gasp of air filling lungs is heard by none in this place - and unseen by sightless eyes.  
Once gray, dead eyes are now a cold, crazed hazel. Once limp, seemingly lifeless limbs take shape and flexibility.

The first thing that hits him is the _stench -_ the smell of death - the rotting flesh, and yet, they feel, as he had until this very moment -_ nothing. _The next is the memory - his last, the fear, the terror, the ever blackness saturating him with its blood - and then ... _nothing._

_This is the Pit of Those Who Have Been Kissed..._

Like a pile of leaves behind a deserted cottage - left to rot away - to nothingness, to piles of flesh and bone, and nothing else.

He blinks his eyes rapidly, wiggles his fingers in front of his face, making _sure _this isn't some phantom of a dream, some last nightmare by a Dementor..but it isn't.

Those who are left to rot have _nothing - _nothing is their very essence, no feelings, no dreams, no last hope of rescue, no pain, no _soul. _

His tongue darts to the corner of his mouth, tasting dried blood - weather its his, or some other poor lost soul, he doesn't care.

A maniacal grin spreads across his twisted, barely shaven face.

Deep in the belly of Azkaban Prison, crazed laughter resounds through the Pit of the Undead.

But it is in the Riddle Castle that another creature lets out a low chuckle of triumph.

_"Morsemordre!"_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Don't own. I wish. This occurs after the seventh book. I promise that this is the last "short chapter", but you may be waiting a while for the next installment. **_

_"Morsemordre!"_

Green-black smoke filled the sky in The Dark Mark yet again. Muggles didn't stop to point. After the Third Wizarding War, nobody stopped anymore to ask question. A dark evil was rising again.

Voldemort closes his eyes and inhales deeply, his lipless mouth in an evil grin.

The Muggles ran in terror, hiding under whatever they could get their hands on. Even wizards cower. Hasn't Voldemort been defeated?

In the middle of Black Lake, however, screaming, innane babble and maniacal laughter fills Azkaban Prison, and him that were once worse than dead, now walks. He is the only one that emerges from the pit. The only one faithful enough to fulfill his master's mission.

He doesn't know it's been four years. No knowledge of the passage of time when you are without a soul. His heart feels it, yes, but he just thinks its and after-effect of the Kiss.

Call it a miracle if you will, or call it a curse upon the very ground he tries to stand upon.

Him who was dead moves out of the pile of bodies. He has no wand, no weapon to which defend himself should the Dementors or the guards return. He knows however, that the Dementors will do nothing. If his master has commanded he be brought back, then he also will have ensured that the wretched creatures will leave his most trusted servant alone.

His tongue darts to the corner of his mouth as a maniacal grin again spreads across his face.

He does feel a bit lightheaded, and a bit hungry as well. Technically, Those Who Have Been Kissed don't really die of starvation or lack of norishment, as most Muggles think. Rather, they simply rot, taking years, almost eternities to do so. For them, there is no other, there is nothing, no afterlife, no hope of redemption...just _nothing. _

He inhales the rotten air, letting the smell of _Death _fill his nostrils. He feels a bit stiff, and a brief thought crosses his mind, and is then gone, a bit like a whisp of smoke. _How long has he been "dead_"?

He has no real idea of where his master would be hiding. He will get out of Azkaban, but then he will wait, as a servant waits, to be called upon. His mind nags at him to remember things that have been long gone out it.

His name. To taste it again in his mouth is like bitter sweetness on his tongue.

_Barty Crouch. Junior. _The inflection. The dramatic, the 'Junior' added on the end as though he is not his _father. _He can almost hear the accusatory voice in his head. He wonders if the _The Traitor _is dead.

Above all things, even above Muggles, even above Half-Bloods, even above the dark lords worst enemy, Barty _hates _traitors to his master. _Loathing_ above all others.

He may be a bit menacing and bit more than simply sadistic when it comes to the Lower Peoples, but when it is _Loyalty _itself that is questioned, Barty is worse than a lion awoken from his sleep.

_Who does his master want him to take care of next? _

He hopes it's one of the Malfoys, or some other _Traitor. _He wasn't so sure of the Hogwarts teacher...what was his name again? He shakes his head, and pulls a spider out of his brownish dirty hair. He crushes the tiny creature between his fingers without second thought, ignoring the light squeak as the creature died. He wipes his hand against his mud encrusted clothes.

After who-knows-how-long in the Pit, he doesn't smell like he walked through a field of roses. He shrugs. He'd learned at 19 that a stench tends to keep people away. And having people, of any sort rubbing up close and next to you just made the Mark hurt worse. He blinks and shakes his head again, the mop of hair falling in his face. He couldn't remember why he thought that.

Maybe it was just instinctive reflex.


End file.
